I overheard some folks talking about free concerts and the best gig they ever saw, and my mind flashed on a memory from 1976, before you were born.
I was spending the summer in Aspen, Colorado, attending a Tai Chi summer camp at the same time there was a summer session of Opera Singers in town. Everywhere I went, I heard lovely voices singing warm-up scales and arias, or whatever it is that beautiful singers sing to stretch their cords. It was so magical.
You know, Aspen is a winter town, made for skiing. But in the summer it has it's own draw. Rocky Mountain High with columbines and aspen trees and a light rain shower every day once the clouds had crossed over the mountains. Everyone there was so cool. They seemed so bright and healthy and rugged and rustic and wealthy all the same time. I was punctured with the need to live there forever and die in some ghost town grave. I loved it.
That morning, I was standing in a parking lot up on some ridge. It was the parking lot of a little strip mall with things like Realtor's headquarters and Business Solutions, Inc. type offices. I was watching the clouds reel past and some hawks, way up high, when I heard this singing. Some guy was singing in pure joy, at the top of his lungs, as he walked out of a travel agent's office and crossed my path and climbed into his jeep. When he saw me he stopped, braced himself for attack, and then kind of shrugged it off and kept on walking. And singing.
I had this slowed-time feeling, and the same kind of excited thrill you feel when you realize you are mere feet away from a very wild deer. I had a sense that I didn't want to startle him, along with the giant desire to run right up and try to pet him.
It was this guy: